


That Time Rancid Squirrels Invaded My Living Room

by Kantayra



Category: Jim Butcher - The Dresden Files
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2007, recipient:WhiteCat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, Thomas, and Mouse versus their greatest foe to date…</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Time Rancid Squirrels Invaded My Living Room

The day the rancid squirrels invaded the living room was bright and sunny with the first chill of autumn in the air. I woke up around one in the afternoon, stumbled over to the kitchen to make coffee, and heard Mister scratching at the front door. None of this was unusual, since Thomas always woke up before I did to sort out Mister's morning adventures. Aside from the general feeling of laziness that came from knowing that my vampire half-brother actually woke up earlier in the morning that I did, I was more than content with this state of affairs.

Or at least I was until I opened the door, and Mister streaked in like he had an entire horde of zombies on his tail. In a way, he did, if even half of the rumors about the Chicago squirrels were true.

Before I'd even thought to set the wards against them, three of the creatures had run into the apartment, right on Mister's tail. A series of unearthly shrieks sounded from under the couch, and a second later I saw Mouse dive for the bedroom.

I, ever the paragon of knightly bravery, took off after him and slammed the door before the squirrels could invade that sanctuary as well.

Now, before you think I was being ridiculous, let me explain a few things to you about the squirrels in my neighborhood: these beasts beared no resemblance to the squirrels the average person is familiar with. During my childhood, squirrels were happy woodland creatures that would have felt right at home in 'Bambi.' If you walked one way, the squirrel ran the other.

Chicago had a way of destroying that proper balance in nature. Our squirrels had become hardened, urban warriors. In the ongoing war between man and beast (and sometimes beast and beast), many a paw and fluffy tail had been lost, but the squirrels who emerged victorious were bad to the bone. They dwelled in garbage cans, leaping out and hissing at any unfortunate humans who tried to pass too close. It was this garbage-dwelling habit that made them rancid: armed for battle with the remains of McDonalds past clinging to their fur. Pickpocketing, muggings, and the occasional knife fight were attributed to these squirrels by those fighting bravely on the human side against the savage rodents.

Or, as Thomas would put it:

"How can you be such a wimp about the squirrels?"

Thomas had retired to the bathroom after his morning roll in the hay with a very smart-mouthed brunette. It remained one of the great mysteries of the universe to me what exactly my brother _did_ in that bathroom for two hours, since he always looked picture-perfect when he walked into it. The other obvious option seemed to be disapproved by the fact that he'd usually been very well satisfied in that regard beforehand, as well.

Whatever the solution to this mystery was, Thomas now emerged, hairbrush in hand, like a vengeful warrior from the heavens above. Suddenly emboldened by my newfound army, I backed away from the shut door, realizing that the squirrels probably weren't going to break it down with a battering ram and I didn't need to press against it with my full strength every waking moment.

"Three of them," I announced to the few, the faithful, the proud: myself, Mouse whimpering under the bed, and Thomas looking very annoyed. "If we divide and conquer, we should be able to defeat them."

Thomas snorted. "You'd think they were more necromancers." He set down his brush and went for the closet.

Now, to say that my bedroom is cramped would be an understatement. It worked just fine when I was on my own, but six-plus feet of wizard, a dog the size of a small SUV, and an incubus were a bit more than my poor bedroom could handle.

Thomas squeezed along the far wall as best he could, but was blocked by the half of Mouse that was not-so-successfully hiding under the bed. Mouse lifted his head when Thomas bumped into him, and the whole bed lifted several inches in response.

"Down, down!" I pleaded.

Luckily, Mouse had already beaten me to the punch and slipped out from under the mattress. The whole bed fell back into place on the floor with a bang.

"Harry, what's that?" shouted a voice from the basement. "I heard the bed banging and screams. You better not have brought bombshell, lusty vixens home and left me out of it!"

One of these days, I was really going to have to improve Bob's reading material.

Thomas tried to go for the closet again, but this time he had all of Mouse in his way. "We need the broom," he insisted.

The sudden wisdom of this plan dawned on me. "You get back into the bathroom," I advised, scrambling onto the bed myself. Thomas retreated, and that left just Mouse standing in the middle of my bedroom, panting happily. Some days, I would swear before the Merlin himself that Mouse was laughing at me.

From the bed, I was just barely able to reach the closet door. Mouse sat down, tail thumping madly against the floor, and watched me reach out for it.

I hesitated a moment. "This is going to be bad, you realize," I announced grimly.

Thomas clenched his jaw. "Go for it."

"Heaven help us all..." I breathed.

And opened the door.

The avalanche that flowed forth was deafening. This was, of course, the natural result of two men living in the same apartment for any length of time, broken by the occasional visit from the fairer sex. The rule was quite simple: 'cleaning up' meant shoving all the mess into the closet and slamming the door shut again before the force of gravity could liberate the last dozen messes that had been 'cleaned up.'

Now, months of accumulated cluster burst forth into the bedroom, half burying Mouse in candy bar wrappers and flattened boxes.

Thomas and I both winced at the sight of our housekeeping shame.

"The broom," Thomas whispered weakly.

It was in the very back corner, of course, wedged between what looked like a truck tire and a broken baseball bat. With sufficient jiggling, I managed to pry it free, although another three inches of debris fell out, further burying Mouse. Fortunately, a foot of rubble barely came up past Mouse's ankles.

I pulled the broom from the closet and carefully passed it to where Thomas hovered in the bathroom doorway. In the living room, we could hear the squirrels and Mister screaming and banging about.

"Now, for the plan," I began. "Thomas, you take the broom and go for the kitchen. Mouse, you'll have to do the herding. If we can get Mister to run back out the front door, they just might follow him."

Thomas gave me a skeptical look. "And just what are you going to be doing, oh, Fearless Leader?"

"Throwing things and screaming like a little girl."

Thomas put his hands on his hips. The effect, complete with the broom, was more than a little hilarious. I tried not to snicker. The last thing I needed was to get into a tussle with Thomas with all the junk on the floor.

"You mean you'll be hiding in here," Thomas insisted.

"Exactly."

"Well, as long as you're _honest_ about being a coward..."

We exchanged shit-eating grins about the general insanity of the whole situation. In the living room, something shattered. Mouse barked in anticipation.

"On the count of three." I crawled back down to the end of the bed so that I was next to the door. "One... Two..."

I threw the door open.

Mouse bounded forth at a gallop, followed by Thomas wielding his broom like a madman. I followed, half tripping over the edge of the bed and whooping wildly as I did so. One of my boots in hand, I took aim for the squirrel that had dodged around Thomas' feet and was making for the bedroom.

The boot landed five inches to the squirrel's right, but it was enough to veer the monster off course. It charged Mouse, who bravely held his ground against the tiny rodent and chased it behind the couch. In the meantime, Thomas flapped wildly at the squirrel that was darting about my kitchen countertop.

Sadly, for me this was a good day.

At some point during the frantic flailing the three of us were doing, Mister reappeared from whatever dimension cats vanish off to whenever their owners need to take them to the vet's, and made his escape out through the front door. The spare squirrel caught sight of him and dove out the door in pursuit.

The second darted out right after it, Mouse on its heels.

The third, cornered by Thomas with his broom on one side and me brandishing an old pizza box on the other, leapt for freedom. It skidded against the floor, scratching as it went, and finally found footing to slide right between Mouse's legs and out the front door.

"Woof!" Mouse said eloquently.

Thomas slammed the door.

The three of us stood, panting from the exertion of battle, and then simultaneously Thomas and I burst out laughing. Mouse howled right along with us.

I slid slowly down until I landed on the couch. Miraculously, it wasn't torn up too much. The real damage had been to the kitchen. Thomas collapsed beside me, still giggling and clutching his broom in one hand.

"I can't believe that worked."

"Question not my brilliance as a general," I retorted.

Mouse, as the topping to the perfectly bizarre afternoon, chose that moment to decide that he was a lap dog. With half of him in Thomas' lap and the other half in mine, he almost fit.

"Where's the beer?" I demanded, still snickering at the latest chapter in my increasingly bizarre existance.

Thomas found it under the sink. I seemed to recall that he'd swept it there earlier by accident when chasing one of the squirrels.

"Either your enemies are getting more creative," Thomas finally concluded when we'd each taken a healthy drink, "or your life is getting progressively more pathetic."

"Either way, at least I'll go out with a smile." We clinked our bottles together, and Mouse happily nuzzled my hand until I scratched him behind the ears.

All in all, it was a whole lot less scary than how we finally cleaned up the mess from the closet. But that's a tale for another time.

  



End file.
